The Walking Dead: Deliverance
by BeneathThisMask
Summary: Society collapses under the weight of a zombie apocalypse. Cal Williams, a 20 year-old college student, is forced to transverse the countryside, relying on wit and instinct to survive. That is, until she stumbles upon a boy mere weeks into the catastrophe, and is suddenly thrust upon with a great responsibility to both him and the others she meets along the way. [On temp. hiatus]
1. End of the World

**Part I: **

**The End of Days**

"_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is Death."_

— J.K. Rowling

In the early days of the outbreak, I can remember the pervasive fear that gripped my heart and that of others. It was a fear that ruled you. A terror that gripped the very center of your being, blocking out all rational thoughts, forcing your body to either adapt and survive, or shut down and die. The sound was the worst. The sound of their moans; guttural gurgles and hisses. It sounded so unnatural at the time. Even wild animals, alpha predators whose lives revolved around hunting and kill other animals, didn't make those kinds of noises. Almost as bad, though, was the smell. I can remember the day it all happened so vividly. I can still smell the rot, the decay. I was there when civilization began to collapse around us like someone had pulled the proverbial block out of a poorly constructed set of Jenga blocks and sent the whole world crumbling in the process. I even remember where I was that day.

Perhaps I should back up a bit.

Introduce myself.

I am Cal Williams.

A tomboy from Northern Texas, I could tell you that I was born ready for this apocalypse. That'd be a lie, though. No one is ever ready for this. Even the most paranoid of end-of-days conspiracy theorist couldn't defend themselves against the horror that day unleashed upon our globe.

At the time of the outbreak, I was twenty years old.

The beginning of the end didn't come suddenly. The world didn't end overnight. The first cases of the dead coming back were treated as freak reports in the media. No one took it seriously, because no one believed it was possible. By the time it began to spread, it was too late to stop it. In the States, New York fell first. By the middle of the week, the entire East Coast was consumed in chaos. It wasn't long after that even the dead where I was began to rise. At the time, I was in Austin, Texas. A rising young student pursuing her dream education to become a historian at the University of Texas, everything in my life finally seemed to be looking up. Funny thing about life is that it has a way of throwing you curve balls without a single warning beforehand. The rise of the dead, though, was a curve ball from Hell. There was no time to organize a proper evacuation or counter action against the sweeping illness consuming all of the world. Chaos reigned on the streets. I got out of Austin just before the National Guard stepped in.

Now, looking back, that day seems so surreal.

Highways jammed bumper to bumper with people desperately looking for safety that would never come.

They didn't stand a chance.

At first, I was certain I'd be dead within the week. But the curve balls just kept coming. As it turns out, I'm a survivor, and dying just isn't something I'm willing to lay down and accept. If there was anytime to fight to the last breath; until the last ounce of oxygen left your lungs, and the cold eternity of death gripped your body...

It was now.

####

{Four weeks into the outbreak}

Silence.

Nothing makes a sound, but I know they're out there.

The trees hide them from me, and me from them, but I'm no fool. I know they're there and the slightest modicum of noise will draw them like a ringing dinner bell. Four weeks its been. Four painfully long, grueling, blood-soaked weeks. I find myself on the outskirts of Waco, Texas. In the month since the sickness began, consuming all in its path, I haven't made it very far, in terms of distance. The town of Waco lies almost at the very heart of the giant Lone Star State and yet, for a part of the state that used to be bustling with the busy lives of others, there isn't even a ghost of noise any longer. About three days ago, I was in Temple. I traveled from town-to-town, house-to-house; hoping and praying to find people. I know they're out there. For now, at least, television stations are still working though, one-by-one, they're beginning to go off the air as more and more cities go under. I'm hoping that Waco will be different. That I'll arrive in time to find some form of life. But now, looking off into the city skyline, I'm already beginning to lose hope.

At the very least, maybe I can find a change of clothes.

My jeans are riddled with holes from running through the brush in the Texas countryside. My loose-fitting, long-sleeved sweater is in tatters. The long and the short of it is, I look like I'm wearing rags. Not that the dead give a fiddler's fuck about fashion, but I feel the need to at least feel somewhat comfortable in my clothing if I'm going to be running for my life. Finally, I break through the brush into a more familiar setting. The Bosque River. You see, I learned real quick after things went to shit, to avoid the major roads and highways. They are a festering ground for the undead and a fine place to make yourself a meal for them. Having lived in Texas all my life, I know the Bosque leads to Lake Waco, which I can then go around to get to the city itself. Its close. I can see the skyline, even over the trees.

Behind me, there is a crunch.

My whole body swivels. Heart pounding, breathing labored, palms sweating.

One has emerged.

The dead thing appears to be a female in her late thirties. She's missing an arm and her skin has decayed to the point of turning almost grey in coloration, as well as hanging of in scale-like flaps. The cadaver is a horrid sight to behold. Even after four dreadful weeks of encountering them, they still strike a primal fear into the core of my being. Perhaps its the small voice of survival buried deep within me warning me of the danger she poses. The thing that makes her particularly dangerous, however, is that I have yet to figure out a way to kill these things; if its even possible at all. I've seen corpses missing the entire lower halves of their bodies, missing arms, a leg or two, or with their entrails hanging outside of their bodies, and yet still be capable of movement. I am beginning to believe its not possible to kill them. That leaves me a singular option.

Run.

I suppose those two years of track in high school are really beginning to pay off.

Neurons in my brain fire off a command to the muscles in my legs and, in an instant, I explode into motion; sprinting down the side of the riverbank away from the hissing and snarling cadaver. While my body makes a beeline towards the city skyline in the distance, my head darts from side to side, combing the tree line for anything that moves. Any sign that more of the dead are on the prowl. At one point, my gaze drifts back over my shoulder to the dead woman I have now left in my dust. Though I can still see her, I know its not possible for her to reach me by this point. That was the one advantage that we living humans have over them. These corpses aren't particularly fast. Certainly not runners. As long as you are aware of your surroundings, running is an effective way to completely escape their hungry jowls. Eventually, I've gained a sufficient distance between us, enabling me to slow down and catch my breath.

I've reached a grassy knoll overlooking a sizable lake.

Lake Waco.

Immediately, the smell of freshwater engulfs my nostrils as a gust of wind sweeps over the surface of the murky water and blasts past my thin frame. It is the most heavenly scent I've encountered in well over a month. The smell of death, decay, and rot is beginning to get old. I'm used to it by this point, but that doesn't keep me from welcoming something as fresh as this. I scan my surroundings for any signs of life - or death - as I've become so accustomed to doing as of late. In the distance, along the horizon, a dark cumulonimbus is swiftly overtaking the heavens. A powerful thunderstorm is building and on the way. The strong bursts of winds ruling the lakefront are further proof of this. That means I need to make finding shelter a priority, pronto. I have yet to see how these undead fair in harsh weather conditions, but I have a gut feeling that I simply don't want to find out the hard way. I do a final scan of the horizon, to ensure I've seen everything there is to see, when a flicker of movement catches my attention.

The object of my focus is several yards ahead of me, in the tall, uncut grass near the shore of the lake itself. If I hadn't been looking so purposely, I would've missed it. I narrow my eyes, focusing in on the patch of foliage I'd seen move and, surely enough, there is another movement. This time, I catch a glimpse of what seems to be an almost human-like shape. My first reaction is another undead corpse and I feel my leg muscles tense instinctively in preparation for flight. However, before I'm able to run, the figure emerges completely from the tall grass and onto the sandy shore of the lake. Immediately, I notice the way it walks. The dead have a very distinctive gait to their movement, almost a limp. Even those that don't have injuries to their legs or feet seem to posses this. Whoever is down there doesn't have this gait. Their head is down, hands seemingly in their pockets, and they're walking along the lake shore almost absentmindedly. Curiosity seizes my nervous system, forcing me forward, through the grass, towards the mysterious figure.

How fucking stupid is that?

The figure could be a type of corpse I'd never encountered before, accounting for its differing behavior.

It could be a human.

A dangerous human. One who could kill me.

Having not seen another living human being in weeks, though, I was so insanely curious that even these thoughts don't stop my advance. I push passed grass that towers even over me, navigating my way through tumbleweed and brush until I finally break through and reach the lakefront. The ground is softer here, moistened by the presence of the waves which wash up across the shore, sweeping around my feet before receding back into the lake. I can now see who it is I spotted on the grass knoll above.

A boy.

From my estimates, he is no older than twelve... maybe thirteen? He has a mop of uncombed brown hair framing his pale face. Short and skinny, he is wearing a simple dirt-stained, white t-shirt, torn jeans, and a pair of Vans. He doesn't seem to notice me at first. I immediately check the vicinity for signs of others, but, as I'd suspected, there is none. This kid is out here. Alone. By himself. What the fuck is a kid this young doing out here on his own while the world is literally eating itself?! My first instinct is to turn around and leave him. That'd be the smart thing to do, right? A kid is just another mouth to feed; something that could eventually slow me down. Besides, he could be dangerous.

_A twelve year old dangerous, Cal?_

Well, you never fucking know.

But, of course, because my mouth always reacts before my brain does, my voice rings out over the murky waters of the lake before I even get done processing my options.

"Hey, kid!"

He jolts.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say he just shit his pants.

_Nice going, Cal. You could've at least been a little quieter._

The boy swivels around, panicked, and spots me immediately. That's when I finally get a better look at him. The kid is pale. I'm not just talking about white, I'm talking about never-had-a-suntan-in-his-life pale. Most striking, however, is his piercing emerald eyes, which glare out from underneath the mop of hair - which I can now see is quite curly - sitting atop his head, though that isn't all I notice about them. They're red around the edges. This kid has been crying... hard. And recently, at that. Can't say I blame him. I've done a little crying myself these past few weeks. Its a natural reaction to seeing the dead eat other people as they begin their swift take over of the planet. The boy appears to be a deer in headlights. He makes no motion to run from me, but I doubt that's intentional. Its almost as if he's frozen in fear and literally _can't_ run from me. Suddenly, my heart tugs. Kid out here all by himself? I bet he's terrified. I'm an adult and even I haven't gotten any sleep lately out here on my own. I can't imagine what _he_ must be going through. I inch closer, causing him to take one horrified step back.

"Don't," I quickly say, throwing up my hands so that he can see I'm harmless. "I'm not going to hurt you."

His demeanor instantly changes.

The look of terror on his face slowly dissipates, as if hearing my voice confirmed to him that I wasn't one of the walking dead, and his eyes begin to narrow in curiosity.

"Who are you?" His voice is soft, with a faint hint that its begun its development into a deeper tone.

To be honest, I don't have a response prepared. I hadn't expected _him_ to question _me_. I had fully expected him to take off running across the lake shore like a typical terrified youth, forcing me to chase him down to achieve any sort of conversation. Instead, he was initiating things. The kid studies me for a moment, clearly perplexed by our reversal of roles; with me now being the deer in headlights, and he the curious observer. Eventually, however, the gears in my head begin to turn again, and I'm able to form a coherent sentence.

"Name's Cal." I reply as casually as I can possibly muster.

Suddenly, a million questions flash across my mind at once;

_What the fuck are you doing out here alone?!_

_Where are your parents?!_

_Are you with more people?_

_Where are they?_

_Why were you crying?_

Instead, a much more generic question escapes my mouth, which, fortunately, is much less an invasion of his personal privacy;

"You?"

He studies me harder.

Tough crowd. Clearly this kid knows what he's doing. For the moment, at least, he doesn't seem to be in the least bit helpless. In fact, he comes across as being quite shrewd and deliberate. Just because I'd answered his question, didn't necessarily mean he had to answer mine. That's the vibe I am getting from the way he's looking at me. Whatever is going through his head, he seems to relax, his shoulders shrinking; hands returning to their place in his jean pockets, all while his gaze softens.

"Carter."

####

Being in the company of another after a month alone is certainly something that requires re-adaptation.

We're on the move.

Now, let's be clear, I hadn't really invited him to join me on my way towards Waco. After the introductions were out of the way, he'd asked me where I was headed, to which I had given him an honest response. He's been following me in silence ever since. Carter is not a boy of many words, which immediately makes him even more of an oddity. Most children his age will talk and talk and talk, until any sane adult is ready to drive themselves off of the nearest cliff. Carter, on the other hand, is the definition of silence. I can't even hear him _breathing_ as we make our way across the lakeside towards the city, the first houses of which are merely yards away from us. Over the course of the last ten minutes, I've tried asking him if he is alone out here, if he's with anyone, or if he really is all on his own. The amount of answers I've received? Zero. Not even so much as a sigh or a huff. I hope he speaks up soon. As good as it is to see another living survivor of this shit storm, its sorta creepy that he's just following me in dead silence.

Overhead, the storm I'd mentioned earlier finally begins to reveal itself in force, as thunder bursts across the sky causing both Carter and I to jump in surprise.

Urgency takes over my movements and I immediately begin to make haste towards the nearest lake house. Breaking in is always the easy part. The fences surrounding this particularly yard don't even come up to my waist. I have to wonder why the owner even bothered having it put up. Shaking my head of these thoughts, I immediately throw my legs over the top and climb over. I turn to see if Carter will follow me over, but, to my surprise, he's already in the process of climbing over when I do. Once his feet are safely on the ground, I turn my attention towards the house itself. The past month has not been good to this home. It looks like something straight out of the _Amityville Horror_. The windows are dark, revealing little of what is inside, and are completely filled with cobwebs. Several of the house's boards are hanging from their original position. Overall, it looks as though one can easily convert this place into some Halloween horror house without much work at all. Still, its our only refuge from the oncoming storm.

I glance back at Carter.

He is fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, all the while looking nervously down at his feet.

He's such a strange child.

Shaking my head, I snap my fingers to garner his attention. Surprise and terror flash across his eyes and his head immediately snaps upward to me. I cock my eyebrow at him. Carter seems to immediately realize that I was just trying to get his attention, quickly relaxing himself as his expression returns to its previous stoic appearance. I wish I could figure this kid out. But it'll have to wait. This storm is pressing in more and more every moment and we need the shelter of this home. I return my attention the looming building and take my first step onto the back porch. The wooden platform creeks loudly as I make my way across rotting boards towards the rusting backdoor. Cautiously, I press myself up against the window mounted on the backdoor and gently wipe away the dust that is currently preventing me from seeing inside. I can barely make anything out aside from the shadowy outline of furniture. Luckily, though, nothing seems to be moving around. Just to be certain, I raise my hand to the glass and lightly rap on the window with my knuckles. Usually that noise alone is enough to drawn any stragglers out of hiding.

I wait.

And wait.

And wait...

Nothing.

"See anything?"

The sudden voice nearly sends me catapulting off the porch. In my focus on making sure the house was clear, I'd completely forgotten that Carter was standing just behind me.

"Jesus Christ, kid!" I hiss. "You scared the shit out of me!"

He recoils and flinches.

The action is subtle but doesn't go unnoticed. Did he think I was going to hurt him? The mixture of initial terror and anger slowly winds down, replaced by curiosity and an ominous sense of dread. Carter composes himself again fairly quickly, but I can't shake the image from my head. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply, letting the moment wash over me before exhaling and letting it go.

"Sorry." I apologize. "I didn't mean to yell at you."

His eyes narrow, studying me momentarily, but he eventually offers me a nod.

"The place seems clear." I answer his earlier question. "You gonna hole up here with me for the night?"

I should just invite him in.

There is a storm coming and I know my conscious won't allow me to send an unarmed, defenseless child out onto the lakefront with a thunderstorm about to tear through the area. I may be somewhat of a loner, and not exactly the most nurturing woman on God's green Earth, but I'm not a heartless bitch either. If he's surprised by my offer, he doesn't seem to show it. Another burst of thunder tears across the sky, only this time, its accompanied by a flash of lightning. Not even seconds after, the first drops of rain streak across the sky, striking my dry skin and pelting the ground around us. Even despite the rain, Carter is indecisive, so I'm forced to make the choice for him.

"C'mon," I prod him. "Let's get out of this storm."

He glances up at me, considering me curiously for a moment, and then relents with a nod.

Waiting no longer, I turn around, grasp the doorknob and push in.

####

This has to be the most awkward situation I've ever been in.

Here I find myself, in some abandoned lake house, in the middle of the goddamn end of the world... with a strange fucking kid that doesn't want to talk. At all. I try to distract myself from this by searching the rooms for anything useful. The first thing I check are the light switches. Over the past couple of weeks, the longer this thing goes on, the more electricity that starts to vanish. As more towns fall, the power grids are left completely unchecked and before you know it, electricity to an entire city will vanish. Seems like this will be Waco's case as well. I flick the light switch two times, then three. Nothing. Not even so much as a glimmer. Luckily, I have something for just such an occasion. Reaching into my back pocket, I retrieve a pocket-sized flashlight I've carried with me ever since day one. Eventually, I know, the battery on this little shit is going to go out with as often as I use it; but, for the time being at least, it'll serve its purpose. Light illuminates the darkness, revealing the contours of the house.

There's one defining trait of this house;

Dust.

Dust, everywhere.

Just the sight of it makes my nose twinge. Next to me, Carter squints to see what the light has revealed, but, once again, says absolutely nothing. I pay him no heed and continue to shine my light on the nooks and crannies of the house around us. The home is in fairly pristine condition, aside from the dust. Unlike others I'd seen in the past few weeks, this one doesn't seem to have any signs of a panicked escape. The furniture is still pretty well arranged, and the owner's belongings are all laid out on the counters and tables where they usually would've been even before shit hit the fan. Its eerie. The beam of light strikes a dinner table in the corner of one of the nearby rooms, revealing that even the dishes from a previous meal were sitting out as if the people who once lived here had eaten one last meal, gotten up and vanished without a trace. A cold chill travels along the base of my spine all the way up to the base of my neck. There really is no defense against this thing...

Everyone is dying.

Dropping like fucking flies.

"Um.." the voice comes from Carter behind me, causing me to glance over my shoulder at him. "Cal?"

Is he actually speaking to me?

I turn more, allowing him to see I'm paying attention.

Carter immediately adverts my gaze and returns his eyes to his shoes. Its almost as though he regrets having spoken up. I observe him for a moment as he rocks back and forth nervously on the balls of his feet. I place my hands firmly on my hips and sigh. What is he so nervous about? I mean, I get it, I'm a stranger; this situation isn't exactly comfortable for me either, but I haven't tried to kill him or anything. So why is he so scared of me? Scared to talk to me? Deciding I'm doing waiting for him to volunteer this information on his own, I decide to press him about the matter.

"Look, kid." I say, sounding somewhat more venomous than intended. "If you're gonna tag along with me, that's fine and all, but let's clear the air on one thing. You gotta speak up if something's on your mind. I'm no mind reader. Got it?"

Finally, the boy regards me with his gaze.

Even though he says nothing immediately, I can see a change in his eyes. One that tells me the gears in his head are turning as he processes what I've just told him. Eventually, he nods in response.

"Okay." he replies simply.

I nod and offer him a slight smile.

"Good," I reply. "Now then, what did you need?"

He sighs and returns his gaze to his feet.

"I'm hungry."

Such a simple request. Yet, it comes with a response I hadn't quite expected. There is an almost electrical jolt deep inside my heart and a tugging that has almost become too familiar lately. How long has he been hungry? This whole time? Hours? Days? Weeks? I mean, he's thin, but he doesn't look skeletal or anything. And while I'm on the subject, who the hell leaves their kid out here all on their own? I feel my entire demeanor soften and I quickly reach into my back jean pocket. I keep some crackers on me whenever I leave a town. Its not exactly what you'd call a meal, but I don't eat much as it is, much less these days. I'm able to feel the plastic wrapping at the bottom of the pocket and quickly withdraw it. There are about four left in the packet which originally held six. They're sort of crushed from having been in my back pocket this whole time, but I doubt that Carter is going to complain.

"This is all I have for now." I tell him, extending my hand towards him. "They're peanut butter. Is that alright?"

Carter reaches out with a pale hand and takes the packet from me, examining it carefully before regarding me again, nodding and offering me the first true smile I've seen him give. Oddly enough, that's enough of a 'thank you' for me, even if he doesn't say it. As I let him start on his 'snack', I return my attention to the abandoned house around us. In the morning, I can probably give it a serious search for food and other supplies. If I am going to keep this kid along with me, for the time being, I'll need more than just a pocket flashlight and some crackers. I move from the sitting room we're standing in, out into the hallway, and then again into an adjacent series of rooms. Two... no, three bedrooms. Yes, this will do quite nicely. Outside, thunder crashes, and the pelting of the rain on the roof increases in strength. I return to where I'd left Carter. He's already wolfed down the four remaining crackers and is wiping the corners of his mouth of crumbs when I return.

"This should be a good enough place to stay the night." I announce. "Are you sure there's no one waiting for you or looking for you?"

Again his expression changes.

This time, softening into a more somber, depressing expression.

"I'm sure." he replies. "I don't have anyone."

Ugh, is this kid trying to make me feel compassion for him? If he is, its working. I decide not to press the matter. I'm lucky he's even responded this much. If he wants to tell me more, perhaps one day he will. For now, I know all that I need to know, and need to focus on getting at least _some_ sleep if I'm going to be effectual tomorrow.

"Alright," I reply. "There's a room down the hall to the right with a bed. You can sleep there."

He starts to nod and then immediately freezes.

"Wha-... What about you?"

"What about me?" I question him, cocking an eyebrow.

"You're not leaving are you?"

_Goddammit, kid._

"No." I assure him, trying my best to smile to soothe his fears. "I'm not going anywhere. Now go and get some sleep. I'll be just across the hall if you need anything."

This time he nods and smiles for a second time. Carter practically bounds off into the hallway and towards the room I'd indicated, leaving me hanging in the doorway, watching him go. Something about knowing that I'm not going anywhere lifted his spirits, even by just a little. Even though its early, I can already tell this kid is going to be a changing agent in my already rapidly changing life. What kind of changing agent, I'm not yet sure, but I am pretty good with my premonitions about people, and I'm almost sure on this one. Sighing to myself a final time, I push off from the door frame and make my way towards the same cluster of bedrooms, choosing the room directly across from his, and pushing open the door. The room smells stale and musty, but I'm used to it by now, and ignore as I plop down on the mattress. The length and weight of the day come crashing down on me the moment I allow myself to relax and immediately I feel as though I've aged decades. My thoughts drift from the endless armies of undead wandering the streets and woods just outside the safety of these walls, to the city I'm to search tomorrow, searching for any signs of life, or some sort of refugee camp.

Then my thoughts drift to Carter.

How am I supposed to take care of a kid?

Being an only child, I didn't even have younger siblings to draw experiences from.

Huffing loudly into the moldy-smelling pillow my face is buried in, I shove the thought to the side. I have all day to worry about that tomorrow. But now, I need sleep and its not exactly hard to achieve this. Succumbing, finally, to the stress of the day, I let my eyelids clamp shut even as my consciousness drifts away from this world.

* * *

**A/N: This is a story I promised awhile ago (about a month ago, I think). Basic premise is that these are all original characters, set in the TWD universe, with their own struggles, troubles, and story. Probably is going to be a long one. At least as long as my first story. Hopefully people will enjoy this. I'm kinda going out on a limb here to see if there is interest in a cast of an original cast of characters, so let me know what you guys think by reviewing, favoriting, and following! This is obviously just an introductory chapter, so characters will be introduced as we go. Let me know what you guys think! **

**Enjoy!**


	2. Carter

I hear the noise—my mind somehow able to determine that it is a noise foreign to anything I know; between the house settling, the storm pelting the house outside, or even the pipes in the wall—and immediately jolt up in my bed. Pitch black darkness greets me. Not even a sliver of light illuminates the bedroom. In the absence of light, hearing takes over, and I again shut my eyes to focus purely on the sounds around. The storm outside sounds as though its become quite violent during the night. Rain is pelting the roof of the lake house, thunder causing the heaven's themselves to tremble, so at first I don't hear anything out of the ordinary. I wrinkle my nose. Perhaps I was just being paranoid. That, or I was having some sort of bad dream, and only had _thought_ I'd heard something. I start to lower myself back into the waiting embrace of the sheets beneath me when I become increasingly aware of just how hot and sweaty I am. I'm practically drenched in sweat, head-to-toe, from falling asleep in my clothes. Rising off of the bed with a grunt, I raise my shirt up and toss it to the side. Cold air sweeps in, caressing my moist skin; sending a cooling chill across the surface of my skin, which causes me to shiver slightly

A good shiver.

I go to return to the mattress.

That's when a hear it again.

The sound sends the hairs on my arms to complete attention. It sounds as though someone is scratching at the floorboards in one of the other rooms. Correction; someone or some_thing._ My first impulse is to hide. It could be a wild animal or something much, much worse. As my mind recovers from the fog of sleep, however, I consider another possibility. Carter. I'm still not used to having someone else with me, and so I'd completely forgotten that he is sleeping just across the hall. What if its him? I know I have to check. Gulping down my fear, I reach down to the floorboard, picking up the shirt I had only just thrown down, and quickly put it back on before carefully tiptoeing to the door. I crane my neck, allowing me to peek out into the hallway. Slowly, my eyes are beginning to adjust to the darkness. I can make out the outline of the hallway furniture; a long desk, with numerous picture frames, up against the far wall. No signs of any movement, however, and I haven't heard that sound again... yet.

I turn my attention to the door across the hallway; the room that Carter had gone to sleep in earlier that night. Inhaling deeply, I creep across the remaining distance between the two rooms and push the door—which is already partially ajar—open completely. Even in the darkness, I can make out the shape of the bed. I sigh quietly in relief. Carter is right where he should be. The young boy is sprawled across the bed, shirt deposited rather messily hanging off a nearby bedpost, leaving him in nothing but his jeans. At least he looks like he's actually sleeping peacefully. Shaking my head, I turn to leave his room, when the familiar scratching noise again rings out, freezing me in my tracks. This time the sound was louder, but it certainly wasn't coming from either Carter or I's rooms. It seems to be coming from the sitting room.

The aging floorboard creeks under my weight as I silently transverse the hallway into the living room.

By now, my eyes are completely adjusted, and I can make out almost anything, even in this blackness. Thunder booms outside, drowning out the faint scratching, but even so, I can't make out even the smallest of movements in the darkness. Everything seems still. As it should be. The house seems quite old, even given the circumstances of the world around it. Perhaps it had mice, or some other rodent infestation, and that was causing the noise. I'd take a mouse over a corpse any day. As the rumbles of the heavens fade, I hear the noise yet again, only this time, I'm able to pinpoint a specific location.

Above.

My heart constricts with fear. There must be an attic in this house and whatever is making that noise, is making it up there. As if ordained by fate itself, I catch sight of a long string hanging down from the ceiling in a separate, adjacent hallway on the other side of the room. I know what that is. By pulling that, I'll lower a ladder leading to the attic. I shouldn't. I mean, I should. Whatever is up there could be dangerous. Plus, I don't think I can sleep knowing that there is something scratching up there, even if Carter can. I try to think of alternatives. Maybe if I put a pillow over my head, it'll drown out the noise. But what if whatever is up there really is dangerous and finds a way down? What if it started scratching because it knows we're here? As a girl who spent the fair majority of her high school years watching the most terrifying horror flicks she could get her fingers around, my mind can keep coming up with these scenarios for weeks, depriving me of any and all sleep.

No, I have to do it.

I have to search the attic.

I have to clear it.

Acting on impulse, I scramble towards the direction I had seen the kitchen in earlier, and immediately approach the far cabinets. Sure enough, inside on of the drawers is a sizable butcher knife. If there is any kind of animal up there, this should do it. Same for a person. One of the undead, on the other hand? I'd have to resort to Plan B. Run like a motherfucker. My hand trembles with fear, even as I clutch the knife tightly in my sweaty palm. With great trepidation, I begin the slow process of creeping towards the hallway where I'd seen the entrance to the upper attic. Upon reaching the location of the string, I stand underneath it, staring up the entrance to the attic on the ceiling, for what seems like an eternity. Again I hear the faint scratching noises, still above me, off the side a little, where I'd originally heard them upon entering the living room. With a final deep breath, and clutching the knife in my hand even tighter, I reach up with my free hand and take hold of the rope.

_Keep it together, Cal._

I steady my breathing.

_You can do this._

I tug the rope. The door panel leading to the attic comes down with ease, bringing with it a ladder leading into the complete pitch darkness of the attic above. The noise stops, as if whatever is making it is alerted to the sudden intrusion to its sanctuary. Even though I still haven't moved from my spot, I can already smell the attic. Its an entirely different smell than the moldy, dustiness of the downstairs. The odor flowing down out of the gaping maw in the ceiling is absolutely rancid. So powerful is the scent of decay, I lose complete control of my stomach, and immediately slump over to heave. Usually vomiting will cure the sickness you feel in your stomach when you become ill, but this is not the case. In fact, throwing up has only made the twisting sensation in my stomach even worse. The continued odor doesn't help this fact.

"Jesus..." I hiss, as I spit yet another wad of some of the left over stomach bile in my mouth onto the ground.

Looking back up, I resolve to finish what I'd come this far for. I may be terrified, but my parents didn't raise me to be a little sissy just because I'm sacred. Sucking up my fear, I place my hands onto the side railing of the ladder and then cautiously place my foot on the bottom step. The old wooden ladder creaks as I press my weight down onto it. Immediately, the scratching noise begins again, this time in earnest. It seems erratic. Almost more frantic than it was before. This does nothing to help the virtual typhoon brewing in my abdomen. Even so, I push up off the bottom step and onto the next...

Into the abyss.

####

"Aaah... ahhhchooo!"

My sneeze spews respiratory droplets into the air, disturbing the dust that has settled in the room, and sending it airborne; which only causes me to sneeze several more times. The stench is horrendous. I'm forced to bring the front collar of my shirt up over my nose. Though it does little to protect me from the stench filling the house's upper cavity, it does help with keeping the dust out, which I suppose is an okay trade off. At least I won't sneeze any longer.

As I had feared, the attic was much, much, much darker than the downstairs. Thinking quick on my feet, I shove my hand into my back pocket, seeking out the tiny pocket flashlight I'd used earlier this evening. Fishing the tiny device out, I flip the switch on it, casting a blinding, illuminating beam of light into the darkness of the upper room. The sudden brightness stings my retina, but I'm finally able to make out the contents of the room around me. The attic looks as you'd expect an attic to look. Dusty, filled with boxes, old furniture, and anything else the previous residents deemed fit to store within it. At first the room is still. No sound. No movement. Just a whole lot of nothing. Just as I'm about to turn back around, having seemingly wasted my time, the noise comes again. Whipping around, I jab my beam of light towards the source. Whatever is causing that scratching is behind a large pile of boxes on the far side of the attic.

Gripping the kitchen knife in my other hand even tighter, I slowly tiptoe across the creaking wood of the attic floor towards the source. Each and every step I take, the sound grows stronger and stronger. My feet come to a stop directly in front of the offending boxes. By now I can hear what I couldn't before. The low hiss. The imitation of respiration. Combined with the scratching that I'd been hearing for the past couple of minutes, there is only one thing that I know of that can create such a combination. My stomach churns; heart once again racing. I cautiously begin to push the boxes aside, allowing the beam of my flashlight to strike a truly horrifying sight.

I count two bodies.

The nearest to me is that of an elderly man.

His skin has grayed with decay, eyes turned to a burnt yellow, and snow white hair falling out of his balding head. Underneath him, at somewhat of an awkward angle, is an older woman, about the same age as the man. Her body is in a similar shape, but the oddly twisted angle she's laying at makes me think she's broken several bones and ligaments somewhere along the way. My first thought is to wonder why they haven't made a move to devour me. That seems to be the first instinct of these reanimated corpses. Quickly, though, I can see why they haven't. Its not that they don't want to. Its that they can't. One of the shelves that was stored up here has seemingly fallen over, trapping their legs and much of their lower abdomens underneath. As much as my stomach sours at the idea of leaving them here, so long as they're trapped like this, they can't pose a threat to myself or Carter, so perhaps, for the time being, its best to leave them. Its not like I know how to kill these things anyways; if they even can be killed in the first place.

I take a step back, fully intent on withdrawing from the attic, when a sudden noise behind me causes me to jump and spin on instinct.

"Cal?"

My heart catches in my throat.

"Carter?!" I practically shriek. "What the hell are you doing up here?!"

The boy eyes me curiously, rubbing his eyes of sleep. "I heard noises. Saw the ladder down when I came to investigate."

I sigh in relief.

I'd half expected to find another creeper behind me. Seeing that it was Carter instead, and that he wasn't turned into one of those monsters, was enough of a relief for me to clear what remains of my anger at being snuck up on. One has to admire the courage of a young boy. It'd taken me nearly ten minutes just to get up the courage to trek up the attic ladder and yet he'd done it instinctively on a whim. Of course, that could've gotten him killed if it had been anyone but me, but still I have the utmost respect for his bravery.

"Aren't you going to kill them?"

Now he's got my attention.

What did he just say?

What kind of question is that?

I don't know how to kill these things and, from what I've seen, they _can't_ be killed to start with. Even so, the way he calmly asks that has me curious. I can't tell what is more unsettling. The fact that this kid seems so surprised that I haven't killed these things yet, or the fact that he is asking me to kill what was formerly two live human beings. Not that I have qualms with killing them, it just seems like a strange thing for a kid to say.

"What are you talking about?" I snap.

"You are going to kill them, right?" Carter presses me. "They're dangerous."

_Thanks for the memo, kid._

"They can't die, kid." I inform him, folding my arms.

"Wait," he sounds almost incredulous. "You've never killed one before?"

"No." I blurt out, now completely curious myself.

The young boy regards me with a mixture of shock and confusion. Its the most vibrant array of emotions I've ever seen him display yet. Its almost as though he doesn't seem to believe me. To say I'm bewildered would be a tad bit of an understatement. Is this kid actually insinuating that he _has_ killed one of these things? As if to answer my mental question, he raises his hand and taps his head with his index finger.

"You've gotta get 'em in the head." he declares.

The head?

That's so incredibly simplistic and yet, it makes sense.

Somewhat.

"How do you know about this?"

Carter's range of emotions collapses. The look from earlier today comes washing over him like the ocean tide over a beach, until there isn't even a hint of the vibrancy he was just displaying. I like to think of myself as an intuitive person when it comes to people. Certain things they do, quirks they express, I can read all of it and form a pretty accurate opinion of them from that initial impression. Along with that comes with a discernment about how to behave when a person exhibits certain traits. All of the alarms in my head are going off. Something terrible has happened to this boy. Approaching him, I drop down to my knees, where we can see each other at eye level; this way, at least, he knows my attention is completely his. For added effect, I lift my hand and rest it on his shoulder. The sudden touch brings his head up and his eyes to mine. There, I can fill the rest of the gaps. I see the pain in his eyes. Even in the darkness, made bright only by the light of my flashlight—which is now laying on the ground beneath us—I can see his pain. Its sculpted—carved into his very eyes—and radiating off of him like heat.

"You can tell me."

The words touch my lips before I even process that I've formed them.

Did I really say that? When did I start getting soft towards anyone? Don't get me wrong, I'm don't have some tragic past that causes me to be distrustful or uncaring towards others. I'm just not a... people person. Yeah, that's the term. Never have been. But... this boy. Carter. Why is he different? Why do I want to care? I've haven't even known him twenty-four hours. Its not possible to form a bond with someone that quickly. Its not possible to care for someone after such a short time.

...Right?

Its just... not possible.

"I've seen it happen." he replies to me.

"When?"

_Goddammit, Cal! Stop it! _

He averts my gaze again.

And then I see it. The twitch at the corner of his mouth. The bottom of his lip quivers, but he quickly covers this up by sucking it into his mouth and biting down on it. His expression is pained. Almost as if someone has stabbed him in the gut. I know that look. Even for someone who isn't good with kids, nor has been around them very much, I know. These are the telltale signs of a flash flood about to happen. My body acts on its own. My other arm drops the knife I'd been holding up until this point and joins the first, wrapping tightly around his small frame and drawing him into a tight embrace. About the time his head touches my shoulder, I feel his body violently heave, and then he's bawling. His "tough guy" demeanor collapses and I'm clinging to him even as he's clinging to me.

"Shhhh," I coo, stroking his hair comfortingly. "Its alright."

The hell?

Who put my body on autopilot?

No, perhaps this really is me. Son of a bitch, I'm becoming soft.

"If it hurts that badly, you don't have to tell me." I continue. "I'm sorry I asked."

Carter is tough for a boy his age. Within minutes, he is able to regain control of his rampant emotions, reducing himself from a sea of tears to a steady trickle. Behind us, the cadavers that were trapped under the shelf continued to his and snarl. Our increased activity seems to have stirred them up, drawing them into a frenzy, even though there was certainly nothing they could do about their current predicament. Carter pulls out of my embrace and quickly wipes the residual tears from his eyes.

"My parents taught me." he admits at last.

So, that's it.

"Are they...?" I trail off, immediately realizing just how insensitive of a question I was about to ask a boy already clearly traumatized by this turn of events.

See?

I told you I am no good with kids.

"I don't know." he answers to my surprise. "I was with them for awhile after... well, after everything. We were always on the run. Always looking for food or a place to sleep."

Carter's eyes glaze over as he is thrust back in time. Back to when he was with his parents. I must admit I'm curious. I had thought his parents dead, but the way he makes it sound... There is definitely more to this young boy's story than meets the eye. What's more, he's choosing to entrust it to me. To bare his soul to me. Why? I may never know. Even so, a small whisper deep inside of me tells me to listen to every detail and take it all to heart, because this will be a defining moment for the both of us. Even if I don't yet know how it will define me. Carter shifts awkwardly in the darkness, silently regarding the still struggling cadavers beside us, before sighing and continuing his tale.

"I remember," he continues. "We found this patch of woods. The dead things couldn't reach us there for some reason. That night, they both had a fight. I can't remember what they fought about, but it was loud. I kept praying to myself that they'd stop. I knew noise drew the dead things. But they wouldn't stop. Finally, I fell asleep."

Carter shivers briefly, wrapping his own arms around himself and rubbing the sides of his arms for warmth. As if the memory of that night was bringing on waves of arctic air.

"When I woke up the next morning, they were gone." he finally says. "I looked everywhere for them. Thought that maybe they'd gone looking for water or to use the bathroom. I never found them."

I'm stunned.

Losing a family member to death or one of the undead is tragic enough. Even so, its almost expected with all that is going on in the world right now. But this? This was something else entirely! From the sounds of it, Carter's parents had up and abandoned him! It takes a moment to process, but now it all makes perfect sense. The boy is fragile. He reacted so fickle towards me, but there was an instance I remember where he asked me if I was going to leave him. Perhaps he is still suffering from the sudden abandonment of his parents. What a terrible thing to do to a child. Especially in times like these, when a child needs his parents most. A sickening anger twists in my stomach, even as I watch Carter watch me for my reaction. I know he's looking to me. I can never replace his parents. Hell, he doesn't even really know me. But, to him; to his young mind; I'm someone who took him in when I didn't have to. Someone who put a roof over his head and promised not to leave. He's looking to me for an answer to his grief.

"That's..." I find myself muttering. "That's awful."

He says nothing, merely averting my gaze back towards the hissing undead couple, who are still clawing feverishly at us, as if doing so will somehow free them from their prison.

"You should take care of them." he says, clearly trying to change the topic.

I'm not letting it go, but he's right.

Bending down, I take up the knife I'd dropped moments earlier and step forward to test the kid's theory. Seeing me moving closer to them, the dead things hiss and snarl with renewed hunger. My eyes narrow as I crouch in front of them. I don't beat around the bush. I kill the man first, striking him once in the head with the knife; sending a spray of blood, trapped brain fluid, and brain matter spewing into the air. It is an absolutely rancid odor, but, unlike earlier, I somehow manage to withstand it long enough to deal with the dead thing's former wife. As it turns out, Carter was right. The swift jabs to their brains have completely ended the cadavers' reanimated states, and rendered them completely dead. I catch myself grinning slightly with the revelation that this has turned out to be true. Now perhaps I have a chance. Maybe I don't have to run so much anymore. After all, I know these things can be killed now. Quite easily at that. Still, there is one more problem I need to deal with.

"Listen, kid." I say to Carter as I rise back to my feet. "I wasn't planning on having any tag-alongs. Just another mouth to feed and body to worry about. Things are just simpler on my own."

I see his face contort with defeat.

He's not focusing on the fact that I'm not done speaking yet.

"At least," I go on. "That's what I thought up until now. I'm going into Waco tomorrow. I have a hunch that there's gotta be other survivors like us. Maybe they've gotten smart and formed a safe zone. It'll be dangerous. Lots of those fuckers out there." I explain, gesturing to the two dead corpses next to us. "That being said... you're welcome to come along with me. If you want."

His head snaps up, eyes suddenly glimmering despite the darkness.

"You mean it?" he gasps.

I fold my arms against my chest in mock annoyance.

This boy is making me too damn mushy inside. Someday, I'll get him for that.

"Don't get soft on me, kid." I snap, heading towards the the ladder leading down to the lower level. "But yeah, I mean it."

For a moment, the boy stays rooted in his spot, as if processing everything I've just told him. That's why it surprises me when he mimics me, folding his arms across his chest, wheeling around to face me, and shooting me a somewhat annoyed expression. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't startled by his sudden change of demeanor.

"My name isn't 'kid'." he insists suddenly. "Its Carter."

I should've known that'd be a problem sooner or later.

I smirk at his defiance.

"Alright," I relent. "Carter."

####

I want to say the two of us slept peacefully the rest of the night.

That'd be a lie.

Well, at least on my part. Carter slept like a fucking log in his room. In the meantime, I've woken up looking like the Wicked Witch of the West, and feeling like her too. Grumbling and completely ignoring the fact that I'm still in just a bra and my jeans, I make my way to the adjacent bathroom and rummage through the drawers in pursuit of a comb of some sort. I finally find one that doesn't look like it's been used to maintain Sasquatch and comb my wild, untamed, bedhead. One of my biggest flaws is that, when I first wake up, I tend to ignore just how much noise I'm making while getting ready. I should probably put a leash on that, considering the dead are drawn to noise, but today, its not the dead I awaken with all my racket. Instead I turn to find the sleep eyes of Carter standing in the bathroom doorway, regarding me with an expression that I can only describe as a mixture of pure annoyance and curiosity.

"Do you always walk around without a shirt on?" he snaps.

"Goddammit, Carter!" I shriek, slamming the door on him on instinct. "Ever heard of knocking?!"

"Hurry up!" he groans. "I need to pee!"

Well, that is just gross.

I swear. One night, he bears his soul to me, and now he feels comfortable acting like this?!

Then again, maybe he's just like this in the mornings. After all, as I've mentioned, I'm not exactly a morning person myself. Huffing loudly, I seize the tank top I'd brought with me and toss it over my head; furiously situating it on my torso before swinging the door open to grant him entrance as I walk out. Carter ignores my obvious annoyance and proceeds into the bathroom, closing the door behind him in order to set about his business. I shuffle into the living room and then across to the kitchen, where I begin to fumble through drawers and cabinets for canned food, or anything edible for that matter. My search is rewarded when I stumble upon an unopened box of Captain Crunch cereal. According to the box, it isn't set to expire for some time, so I make haste to the other side of the kitchen, snatching up two bowels before returning to the small round kitchen table to begin breakfast. I must admit, getting used to there being another person with me is quite an experience. I impulsively want to eat the entire box of cereal, but now I have to consider Carter's hunger too, and so, controlling my urges, I pour half the box in my bowel, and the remaining half in Carter's. He enters the room shortly after and glances down at the work I've accomplished.

"What?" I ask him, after seeing his rather confused expression. "Never had Captain Crunch before?"

"Nah, its not that." he replies, shaking his head. "Just been awhile since I've seen cereal."

I nod in understanding.

"Well, eat up." I tell him. "We've got a long day ahead of us."

Carter nods furiously and then dives for his food.

I start to join him, watching him tear into the bowel of dried grain as I approach the table. Nearly startling me, he suddenly stops munching on his breakfast and regards me with a much softer expression than he'd been giving me so far this morning. My eyebrow unconsciously cocks itself at his sudden change of demeanor. Is this kid bipolar or something? Surely not.

"Cal?" he speaks, silencing my overactive thoughts.

"What is it?"

"Thank you. For... all of this." he picks his words carefully. "And sorry about walking in on you earlier."

Well, isn't that... sweet.

_Wait, what?_

Yeah, sweat.

And considerate.

I can't say I've known too many kids his age that can both thank and apologize to their elders in the same breath, and all without prompting from their parents. I can tell from the look on his face that he is being genuine. Perhaps I was right earlier. Perhaps he was just acting out because he's not a morning person. I couldn't begrudge him that, could I?

"Its alright. I'll forgive you... this time." I give him a joking wink.

God, I'm such a bitch.

He smiles back at me and is about to return to eating.

Well, we both were...

Until the noises come from the front door.

Carter jumps to his feet on instinct, knocking his bowel over in the process. The noises are getting louder. My heart is pounding ferociously in my chest. My eyes dart from Carter, to just beyond the cabinets, where I can see the front door. The handle of the doorknob is wobbling, suggesting to me that something is desperately trying to get in. Acting on my first impulsive thought, I snatch a kitchen knife from the nearby counter and clutch it tightly in my hand. If its one of the undead, at least I know how to kill it now. If its not though... If its not, I doubt a puny little kitchen knife is going to help me at all. My attention returns to Carter, who is clearly terrified by this development.

"Get behind me." I hiss at him.

He glances back at me, eyes wide with terror, and takes a moment to process my demand. All at once, he darts from his spot, hiding his small frame behind me as I'd instructed. Now I can hear something else coming from the outside. Something I know the undead can't make. Voices. Language. Two voices are talking to one another. One a low baritone, the other a much deeper bass. The doorknob wiggles a final time and then I jump as the wooden obstruction snaps as it is kicked open by the unseen force. Sure enough, two men, roughly my age or slightly older, slink in to the front room, so caught up in their own argument that they don't even notice me. Immediately, anyways.

"Ya gotta lighten up, Ronnie." the softer voice chides the other. "Live a little. And try speaking up a bit more. The others barely hear you talk."

The other man doesn't respond, though I'm not sure if its just because he doesn't want to, or because he has actually spotted Carter and I. My arms tense. I'm ready to start swinging this knife for all I'm worth if either of them take a step closer. The second man's silence garners the attention of the first, who follows his line of sight to us.

"Well sweet Jolly fucking Ranchers." the man chirps with a grin. "What do we have here?"

* * *

**A/N: What a way to end a chapter, eh? xD This chapter is pretty straight forward, so I don't have any immediate comments to add, only that this story starts getting good with the next chapter. You'll see some plot develop. It was important that I spent a chapter letting you get to know these two though. Obviously, they'll be quite important in what's to come. I hope you all enjoyed! Remember to comment, favorite, and follow!**

**Like with all my stories, I will answer reviews, if I have any, at this point in the chapter:**

**Kayden Pause: Trust me, like with my other two stories, the pacing on this one shall remain exactly what it needs to be. This story will actually be somewhat slower, as you can see, because I have to build up the characters from the ground up. I only had to do that with Tanner in TCR. Anyways, thanks for the review! Glad you like it already! :)  
**

**My name is who: I'm so glad you're excited! I'm glad you enjoyed TCR and I know you'll enjoy this one too :) Thanks for the review!**

**Thanks you two!**

**Keep 'em comin' guys!**

**Until the next one.**

**Later!**


	3. Waco

"Well sweet Jolly fucking Ranchers. What do we have here?"

Clutching the kitchen knife ever so tightly in my fist, I raise it to chest level, allowing both intruders to see that I am armed and prepared to stab them if they get even a step closer to Carter and I. Behind me, Carter clings lightly to my shirt, peering out from behind me in order to see what is unfolding. Outwardly, he doesn't appear too frightened, so much as he does curious, but the kid is difficult to read. For all I know, inside, he could be shitting himself. In front of me, the man who just spoke steps forward. He is a crazed-looking individual, wearing a long brown trench coat, and an elaborate hat on his head. His hair, black as coal, is long, reaching down to his shoulders and is almost as crazy and disheveled-looking as he is. To top of this wacko's appearance, he has a very distinguished goatee surrounding his mouth, which has fixated itself into a bemused smirk.

I'm not amused.

"You take one step closer and I swear to Christ I'll kill you!" I bark at him, halting him in his tracks.

The man raises his hands to give the appearance of surrender. Nevertheless, he continues grinning. Does he think this some fucking game? I do not enjoy being toyed with.

"Now, now, darling, no need to go waving around sharp objects." the man protests. "We're not going to hurt you or the boy. We're not exactly the type."

The man's accent is funny. He almost sounds British, with a slight drunken slur, but for a Brit to be this far in the American South would be even more of a conundrum than the walkers outside. Then again, I suppose stranger things have happened. Even so, he continues grinning his his amused fashion, which only pisses me off more and more. So far, his companion hasn't said a word, much less moved. I just want them both gone. Which is odd. Here I have been, searching for survivors, and the first two other than Carter that I discover, I want out of my presence. Perhaps the paranoia of the apocalypse has finally gotten to me.

"Who are you two?" I demand, still clutching my knife. "Answer me!"

The man sighs, "Well, if you insist. My name is John-"

"If you say Smith, I will cut your throat out." I retort sarcastically.

"A British joke, eh?" the man named John replies with a smirk. "Quite the witty one, aren't we? I assure you this accent is one hundred percent authentic."

I can't help but smirk.

The man definitely has a sense of humor. That's a good start.

"What about your silent friend over there?" I inquire, nodding towards the man behind him.

John staggers a glance at his compatriot, drunkenly waving him forward. This John man is eccentric. Had I met him anytime before this, I'd have thought him a drunkard or clinically insane, but something tells me that there is more to this man than meets the eye. Reluctantly, John's companion steps forward into the light, allowing me to get a look at him. He's slightly taller than John, bulkier too, seeming to bear his fair share of muscles, wearing a gray hoodie and a torn pair of blue jeans. I'm immediately drawn to his eyes, which are a softer green color, and he has a short mop of dusty brown hair atop his head. Compared to his compatriot, this silent gentleman looks relatively normal and somewhat handsome, though I immediately disregard that thought.

"This person happens to be an oh so good friend of mine." John continues. "His name is Ronnie. Ronnie Clashman. He's kind of the silent type in groups of more than three. Don't ask me why though."

"Did you have to tell her my last name too?" Ronnie groans at his friend.

"I told you, you need to lighten up." John retorts.

Personally, I'm with the Ronnie guy on this one. John talks far too much, giving up much more information than I want or need. Still, the two of them are slowly becoming less threatening to me. I find myself actually believing that they mean Carter and I no harm. Slowly, and with much trepidation, I lower the knife in my hand until it is at my side. I decide give the men the benefit of the doubt, while keeping my guard up if they do in fact try anything. Both men, and Carter, see me do this and the tension in the room seems to completely dissipate, with both newcomers breathing a sigh of relief and Carter reluctantly stepping out from behind me.

"There, see?" John exclaims joyously. "We can all be civil people here."

"What are you both doing here?" I snap, still wanting answers.

"Straight to the point as always, eh, darling?"

"Don't call me that." I spit.

I hate being called names like that.

Darling, honey, sweety; all of those kinds of pet names make my stomach churn. Nevertheless, John seems to let my callousness roll off of his shoulder. I can already tell that not much bothers this man. I'd garner a bet that even if I was cussing him out, he'd probably find something humorous out of it and then shrug it completely off.

"Tell you what," he grins. "We told you our names, now you tell us yours. You do that, I'll stop calling you darling."

That bastard.

Clever bastard, but bastard nonetheless.

"Name's Cal." I relent. What's the harm? They're already in here with us. Its not like they can steal my identity or anything anymore. "This pint-sized scrub is Carter."

Both John and Ronnie regard Carter as if they are seeing him for the first time.

Had they seriously not noticed the kid peeking out from behind me the entire time we'd been talking? Carter looks like a deer in headlights, deciding to say nothing for one reason or another. In the meantime, the two men frantically look between the boy and I, as if trying to solve one of the world's greatest mysteries.

"He yours?" Ronnie speaks up.

This genuinely surprises me.

Not only just the question itself, but the fact that he spoke to begin with. Up until now, he, like Carter, has opted to keep his mouth shut. I sorta wish he had too, because his question strikes a nerve.

"Do I look old enough to be the mother of a thirteen year old to you, buddy?" I retort in irritation. "Carter and I found each other yesterday. He's traveling along with me."

"Headed anywhere in particular?" John pipes up, sounding particularly interested in this.

"You ask too many questions, you know that?"

John shifts his posture and folds his arms. Perhaps I am being a little too harsh on him, after all, if he wanted to harm Carter or I he could have done it by now. I just don't like being questioned. Seems the world going to shit has made me even less people friendly than I was before. I have to give John credit, though. He isn't one to quite and he certainly isn't relenting in his pursuit of me.

"Let me try a different approach." he begins. "We have a camp. Survivors like ourselves. Like you."

My heart stops.

"You... Y-you what?!"

John smirks, "That got your attention."

Suddenly, however, Ronnie steps forward, catching the older man's shoulder and preventing him from divulging anymore information. John looks startled, wheeling around to see the cause of the sudden outburst.

"Is that wise?" Ronnie challenges him. "We don't know them."

"With all do respect, Ronnie boy, I hardly think that a skittish thirteen year old and a woman with a kitchen knife are going to murder an entire camp of people." John argues.

"She's threatened to kill us." Ronnie retorts.

"And would you not?" John cranes his eyebrow. "She was defending a kid from strangers. She even gave us a warning. I can tell bad folk when I see them, and I'm tellin' you, these two aren't."

Ronnie visibly hesitates. Once again, I don't begrudge him. In a reversed situation, I'd have reacted the same. But now I'm keenly interested. These two claim to have a camp of survivors. Just the very thing I'm looking for. It'll be good for Carter too. There is more safety in numbers and perhaps there will be other kids there for him to make friends with. Finally, after seemingly mulling over John's words, Ronnie drops his hand from the older man's shoulder with a nod, and steps back into his former spot. John nods in return and then returns his attention to us, where he resumes his now trademark grin.

"What kind of camp?" I query.

"Like I said, its for survivors." he replies. "We're based inside Waco. Specifically the abandoned high school, Midway High School. Ronnie here and I go out from time-to-time in order to get essential supplies for the group."

"How many of you are there?"

"About ten, maybe fifteen." John says, scratching his head. "To be honest, I've never really counted."

"And you guys would just let us in?"

To my surprise, this question comes from Carter, whom, up until now, hadn't breathed so much as a squeak. I'm not sure why he suddenly felt the need to speak up, but clearly it was something on his mind. Its a surprisingly mature question for a child, but, as I've come to learn in the extremely brief time I've known him, Carter is quite the perceptive young man and is showing signs of being wise beyond his years. Most adults underestimate children too much these days anyways, so I give him props for summoning up the courage to ask anything at all. John's expression softens, his gaze drifting from me to the boy beside me, a more genuine smile touching his lips.

"That's the general idea, sport." he replies. "That is, if Miss Cal over here agrees to coming."

Suddenly, all eyes are on me, putting me on the spot and almost immediately making me feel uncomfortable. Even Carter is staring at me intently, patiently waiting on my answer. The obvious choice is to go with them. My goal all along has been to search and find a survivor's camp. Now that I've potentially found one, I'm hesitant. Until yesterday, I've survived completely on my own, without any outside help; even despite the fact that I couldn't kill the undead prior to last night. Being alone has sort of become part of who I am. Carter was an unforeseen, but welcome addition, but I still am not fully use to him being around just yet. Now I have to accept living with up to fifteen others? The feeling just doesn't set right with me. Still, Carter's eyes have lit up like a Christmas tree at the prospects of a safe haven somewhere in the city, and while I could just send him with the two men, something about that idea sits even worse with me than living in a large group again. To my surprise and curiosity, even John looks somewhat hopeful that I'll accept, while Ronnie looks almost completely indifferent. I'm starting to believe he's the sane one out of the two of them.

Sighing, I relent again.

"Alright." I say. "Lead the way."

Carter grins widely.

John, who is always grinning, merely grins wider.

"As you say." he replies with a nod. "Follow me."

####

The day outside is cold and overcast.

The sky looks almost dirty, marred with pewter and hanging low to the east. We haven't been walking long and already we've entered the city. Waco isn't at all how I remembered it. Leaves litter the streets along with trash that has, over time, accumulated from neglect and lack of cleaning. Per John's orders, our small little troop keeps to the alleyways and roads less traveled. The reason is obvious. The main roads were littered with cars and packed with people when the outbreak started. Now those people are gone, vehicles abandoned, replaced by the walking dead. Even as we creep along one of the alleyways leading to the school, I can see the corpses lumbering in the streets just beyond the edges of the brick buildings. I've never seen so many of them in one place. Its a truly terrifying sight to behold. If they catch even so much as a hint of our presence, they'll herd up and stampede and we would almost certainly die a very horrible and painful death.

"Its really somethin' isn't it." John whispers.

"How many do you think there are?" I reply.

"Thousands. Probably hundreds of thousands."

"Holy shit..."

"Keep moving." he instructs me. "We're nearly there."

The four of us sneak around a dumpster and finally emerge from the alley into a relatively clear street. The good thing about Waco is that, for a city, it isn't too massive and is quite easily transversed. Because of this, reaching the middle school isn't a very difficult task. The building looks like something out of one of those asylum horror movies. A makeshift barrier of thick wooden planks, spikes made from sawed off tree trunks, and sheet metal surround the school yard to prevent the dead from entering. All of the windows of the school have been very thoroughly boarded and even the entrance to the school's main lobby is surrounded by smaller spike traps. These people very clearly don't want anything getting in.

"Pretty nice set up, huh?" John notices me staring.

"Did you all do this?" I ask, incredulous.

"Some of it." he replies. "A lot of it was done during the early days. Before things got bad. To be honest, I don't think we could've done this now. Would've made too much noise... drawn unwanted attention.

I nod in agreement.

"So, what happens now?"

"We take you inside and introduce you to everyone. Ronnie, why don't you take the supplies we brought back out to the shed while I get these kind folks settled?"

Ronnie simply nods his consent and then promptly takes John's knapsack before pushing open the makeshift gate into the schoolyard and vanishing around the side of the large building. John then escorts myself and Carter inside, stopping briefly to re-secure the gate, before proceeding to lead us further into the schoolyard. This place is creepy. The wind roars through the hollow spaces between the empty buildings and streets. There is nothing but silence. The silence of an entire population that has been reduced to nothing but walking, rotting corpses. Its so silent, in fact, that our footsteps echo out across the schoolyard as we ascend the steps to the front door of the building. John gives us very little time to prepare ourselves, pushing open the creaky wooden doors to the school and then we're inside.

Immediately I'm struck by just how differently the inside of the school looks from a traditional school. It has been completely transformed. The lobby, which, on a normal school is a large open space for students to mingle before and after classes, has furniture spread across it in random areas. A couch pushed up against the wall, a random assortment of chairs arranged in a circle close to the center of the room, a large reclining chair near one of the doors leading to other hallways. In many ways, it reminds me of a large, disorganized living room even though no one seems to be using it at the moment. That seems odd. Fifteen people here, but no one in the main common room?

"Where is everybody?" I ask John.

"Likely in the classrooms." he responds. "We've turned them into makeshift apartments of sorts. They're large enough to house a various assortment of people, usually around three to five. We have a few families that live together. Some people have made friends and have roomed together. And yet, some live alone in a few of these rooms."

"Its genius." I breathe without thinking.

"That's the idea."

"Where do we stay?" Carter pipes up, eliciting a smile from John.

"We'll get you both a room." the older man replies to him. "We have plenty."

A noise from behind us suddenly startles me and I turn in time to see Ronnie trundling in from outside, having completed his task. The young man, no older than myself, sees me notice him and quickly averts my gaze. Suppose he still doesn't trust me. Not that I exactly blame him. Behind me, John clears his throat, drawing my attention.

"Well, why don't Ronnie and I give you the grand tour and help find you both a room and then you can meet the others at dinner?"

Dinner?

Did he just say dinner?

My "dinner" over the past four weeks has consisted of scavenged cereal and uncooked canned goods. Trust me when I tell you that it was hardly appetizing, but a girl has to stay well fed in order to survive, so I stuck it out and ate what I had to. Yet, the way John says "dinner" seems to suggest to me that he's not speaking of cold beans or hardened cereal. The grin on his face reinforces that line of thinking. He's not pulling my leg! There may actually be food around this joint!

"If there's food involved, I'm in." I reply, suddenly salivating.

"Me too!" Carter chimes happily.

So its settled.

Over the course of the next twenty minutes, John gives us an extensive tour of the building. As he mentioned, the classrooms and offices have all been renovated into makeshift living areas, complete with cots for sleeping, furniture if any could be found, and whatever belongings the inhabitants had brought with them to live here. The school has a rather spacious library, which John explains was turned into a meeting place for the adults of the camp to meet at in case of emergencies or in times when dire decisions needed to be made. He assures me that it is rarely used for that purpose, rather being used for its original intention; as a library for the few children among the camp. As one might expect, the cafeteria, which is also rather spacious, has retained its functions and even though none of the appliances work, Ronnie has figured out a way to light fires on the stoves, allowing for cooked meals when supplies allowed for it. As an additional bonus, the school had extra food supplies on hand when the outbreak started, so the group has yet to go short on food or water.

Of course, it isn't all roses and daffodils. Upon reaching the back of the school, John shows us out a rather large window, revealing the back school yard. I immediately notice the problem. Though the area closest to the school is fenced off in the same manner as the front, the majority of the unfenced school yard is teeming with undead faculty and students that didn't make it to safety in time. Without any food source nearby, these cadavers have been reduced to simple lurkers, but the potential for great danger is there if these lurkers ever manages to tear down the makeshift fencing. Our tour comes to an end in the front of one of the numerous classrooms in the hall leading back towards the foyer.

"And you can stay here." John is saying to me as we arrive. "Fix it up anyway you like. Its yours."

"Thanks." I reply nonchalantly. "Don't expect it to change too much, though. I'm not very good at remodeling."

He nods.

"What about me?" Carter inquires, suddenly sounding strangely worried.

"Don't worry, sport. We'll find you a room down the hall."

Carter visibly doesn't like that answer. At all.

My brow furrows as he first looks at John, then to me. Immediately my vision is sucked towards his eyes. Its those eyes I used to see on those old commercials about starving orphans in Africa. The sad puppy dog look, as most would call it. What is with this kid? He was fine only moments ago, starstruck the entire way through the tour.

"But I want to stay with you." he declares innocently.

Wait...

What?

He wants to stay with me? Why? I'm not exactly the motherly type and I'd make a hell of a bad big sister. Plus, he's only known me part of a day and a night. Hardly enough time to know enough about me to actually want to stay around me. Kids are often spectacles to behold. My mother used to tell me that a child can form a bond fairly quickly and I can only assume that is what is happening right now. I glance between him and John, the latter of which looks just as puzzled by Carter's request as I am. Carter is still a developing young boy. I am a fully grown woman. I highly doubt its a good idea to let a kid stay in the same room as I'm staying, even in these days.

"I won't be a problem." he continues to plead. "I promise!"

Ugh, this kid really knows how to work my heart strings.

I have to admit I've grown to like him in the short time we've been together.

He can be nosy and curious, not to mention he has no sense of privacy in the mornings, but his dedication to me is somewhat heartwarming. I can't exactly say I've encountered a person yet who has shown me that sort of respect and kindness. I can definitely get used to it though.

"What do you think?" John suddenly speaks up, glancing at me.

"Its fine." I sigh. "I can set up some sort of divider, like a curtain or something, so that we're still together but we have privacy. The kid's parents left him. I'm not about to do the same."

I can't believe those words came out of my mouth.

Carter beams as expected.

If I was every trying to distance myself from this kid, I just permanently failed that mission. With that declaration, whether I like it or not, I am officially his caretaker. That can either be a blessing for him or us both, or a total disaster. To be honest, I'm completely terrified to find out which it will end up being, but at least for the time being, we won't have to worry about it, and can focus on staying safely here in the school. John smiles and simply nods his approval. Like I said before, the man doesn't let anything bother him. Everything seems to be just water under the bridge. I wish I could be that laid back. I'm just not built that way. Seemingly having watched all of this unfold, while waiting for the right moment to intervene, Ronnie steps forward from the outer hallway and interrupts us once more.

"Sorry to interrupt." he mumbles. "The others are gathering the cafeteria."

"Dinner time!" John shrills excitedly. "Come on, you two. Let's go get you introduced to everyone."

I turn to regard Carter.

The boy's sad eyes are gone, replaced by two sparkling gems, and he offers me a smile upon seeing me looking at him.

Against my better judgement, I smile back.

And then we're both off towards the cafeteria.

* * *

**A/N: This should be one of the last of the slow chapters. I think I've laid a pretty solid foundation and the next one will finish up what's left. From here on out, things will start picking up! Its late here, so I shall answer reviews from the last chapter and the ones from this one when the next one releases. Hope it was enjoyable!**

**Until the next one folks!**

**Later!**


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